


welcome to earth (won't you stay a while?)

by chaos_ineffable



Series: if there's no one there (then there's no one there) [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Non-binary character, Tiny bit of Angst, michael is tired of everyone's shit, uriel is non-binary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_ineffable/pseuds/chaos_ineffable
Summary: Michael knows Aziraphale is up to something. She just doesn't know what. With Gabriel injured and more useless than usual, she will have to take matters into her own hands. Or, more preferably, put them into Uriel's.Uriel isn't sure they like Earth but they are definitely sure they don't like sitting around waiting for Aziraphale to make his move. That is, until a familiar newcomer appears and makes things interesting.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: if there's no one there (then there's no one there) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1500974
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	welcome to earth (won't you stay a while?)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry about the wait on this one, guys! School is kicking my ass right now so this is a little shorter than I really wanted it to be but it turned out pretty okay, I think. The next chapter should be up in about two weeks! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Michael takes pride in few things. Pride is a sin, after all. Her work ethic, however, deserves some pride. She has never missed a day and she never plans to. Whenever she is given a task, she gets the job done in an efficient and timely manner. She does not believe in not wanting to work.

Her appearance, from her pressed suit to her impeccable hair, is another cause of pride. An angel must be presentable at all times. It would not do to have the Heavenly Host looking like _demons_. If anyone were to ask her, she would say that she is by far the most fashionable angel in Heaven. No one ever asks her but she has no doubt that they know. They only have to look at her to see it, after all.

She prefers to file the state of her office under this form of pride. It is attached to the way others view her thus counts as her appearance. And currently, it is under attack.

Golden handprints stain the desk near where Gabriel stands, the ichor spreading to her carefully organized papers. His wounded shoulder drips more ichor onto the pearl carpet. She eyes the stains unhappily, pulling a chair out and gesturing for Gabriel to sit down. “What happened?”

Gabriel eases himself into the chair, slouching with a pained sigh. His suit is completely ruined, ichor stains splattered across the front, more slowly seeping from the hole in his shoulder. “Aziraphale happened.”

Michael shoots him a look. “I thought Aziraphale was locked up.”

Gabriel winces. “He was.”

Michael glowers at him. “Explain.”

She starts to prepare everything she’ll need, pulling another chair across from him and miracling a bowl of water and a washcloth while Gabriel talks. By the time he finishes, she’s managed to remove his ruined jacket and shirt and has begun to sponge up the worst of the ichor.

“You should not have riled him up.” Michael’s voice is sharp. Her angular face is pulled into a scowl. Her angry gaze is focused on Gabriel’s ichor covered chest so she doesn’t have to look into his stupidly carefree eyes. She wipes the cloth over the wound Aziraphale left him with. There is not an ounce of gentleness in her touch. “In fact, you shouldn’t have been in his cell at all. You were supposed to be with Sandalphon, ensuring the demon actually died this time.” She dips the cloth in the bowl of holy water by her hip. The water runs gold. She squeezes out the excess and slaps it back onto his shoulder.

Gabriel grits his teeth and forces himself to hold still. He knows squirming won’t make this any easier. It will probably just piss Michael off more. “Sandalphon had it under control. Besides, I’m owed some retribution for what he did.”

“He’s dangerous, Gabriel,” Michael scolds, her scowl tightening. She applies a little more pressure to the cloth. Shimmering droplets leak from it and mix with the shining ichor that still stains Gabriel’s chest. She dips it back into the bowl. “You’re lucky this is all he did. If he had found the demon any sooner, things could have gone very bad.”

Gabriel tuts. “Come on, Michael. He’s still an angel, for whatever reason. He can’t pull something like this again without Falling, we both know that.”

Michael doesn’t reply. She wipes off the rest of the ichor surrounding the wound and miracles a ball of gauze to wrap around Gabriel’s chest and shoulder. When she finishes, she vanishes the bowl of water with a flick of her wrist and dries her hands with a miracled hand towel. She sits back and settles a heavy expression on Gabriel. “Do we?”

Gabriel falters. “What do you mean?”

“He fraternized with a demon. He dabbled in three of the seven sins. He stopped the Apocalypse. He attacked you, one of God’s favored. All without Falling.” She counts the deeds on her fingers as she says them, her expression turning more troubled with every one. “We can’t assume anything, Gabriel. Aziraphale is a loose bullet, a very dangerous one. The only way to deal with him is to get rid of him, for good.”

Gabriel huffs out an agreement, pulling his now perfectly pressed shirt over his head and adjusting it over the bandages. His jacket, suddenly in brand new condition, is draped over his arm. “And we will, Michael. He can’t run from us forever.” He turns to her with one of his stupid grins and places his hands on her shoulders, leaning down slightly to be at eye level. His violet eyes glimmer with confidence. “Stop worrying so much. We’re Archangels, remember? We can’t get it wrong.” He squeezes her shoulders once than steps past her and out of her office.

Michael watches him leave. She works her jaw for a minute, grinding her teeth, before striding to her desk and grabbing her tablet. She taps out a quick message, then looks at the carnage Gabriel left and flicks her wrist with a roll of her eyes. The ichor vanishes, the chairs return to their proper places, and any crumpled papers straighten themselves out and pile themselves neatly on her desk.

She sits and patiently begins going through her options. If she wants to pull this off, she needs a plan.

Uriel arrives shortly after. They stand in front of the desk, hands folded neatly over each other. They raise an eyebrow expectantly, the gold mark decorating their nose shifting slightly with the movement. “You needed to see me?”

“Yes,” Michael says, “I have a job for you.”

Uriel nods. “Of course. What’s the job?”

Michael smiles, a tight expression with no real emotion in it. “I need you to watch Aziraphale. Don’t initiate anything with him. Just watch him and see what he’s up to. We need to know what he’s planning if we’re going to properly get rid of him.”

Uriel’s usual condescending expression evaporates into curiosity and they bend forward slightly, unfolding their hands to brace against the desk. “Does this have something to do with what happened to Gabriel?”

“You mean the mess that Gabriel caused? Yes, it does.”

Uriel tilts their head to the side slightly, “Why the sudden interest in him anyway? He hasn’t been a problem since the failed Apocalypse.”

Michael sighs. “He might not have been causing trouble but his mere existence is a problem. If other angels hear about what he’s done and that he has not Fallen, there will be chaos. Others have already started asking questions, doubting the Almighty and Her plans. We cannot afford to let Aziraphale go unpunished. We must make an example of him, or we will lose complete control.”

Uriel rights themselves and nods. There is a small wrinkle between their eyebrows, subtle evidence of their doubts in this plan. Small relief fills Michael when they do not question it. “When do I start?”

“Immediately.”

Surprise flashes across their face but it’s gone as soon as it appears. They turn and head for the door.

“Oh, and Uriel?” Michael stops them before they can take more than a few steps, “Don’t tell Gabriel.”

They give her a look, confusion and suspicion clear in their eyes before they nod once and continue on their way out.

Once the door is firmly closed, Michael lets out a heavy sigh. She misses the days when all she had to worry about was how many petals were on a flower and how many stars to put in a galaxy; when looks of suspicion were not expected from other angels. All this strategy is exhausting, for all of them.

She shakes her head and pulls out several papers, looking them over before uncapping her pen and crossing a few lines out. It might not be the best job but it is still hers and she always does her job.

\---

Two weeks after Uriel is stationed on Earth to watch over Aziraphale, they still have nothing to report. The traitor angel just sits in his bookshop and refuses to sell books. Several times, Uriel almost returns to Heaven with a complaint. What is the point of them being here if nothing is happening?

They are in the process of writing their first report, seated in the small, empty flat they rented simply for the sake of keeping up appearances. It is a painstaking process, far more so than it should be. But they want to throw in as many subtle complaints about this pointless mission as possible so wording is everything.

Then something changes.

They don’t know what, exactly. A flurry of miracles tingle at the edges of their celestial senses, small enough to barely draw attention but multitude enough they cannot help but notice them. All from the direction of Aziraphale’s shop.

Immediately, Uriel is there. They stand across the street, in as inconspicuous a spot as they can find, and watch the bookshop’s entrance. For several minutes, nothing happens and they almost return to their flat, planning more complaints for Michael.

Then a familiar black Bentley rolls to a stop in front of the shop and Uriel sucks in a surprised, but entirely unnecessary, breath. They watch the car like a hawk. They weren’t involved in the plan to get rid of the demon, but they had heard enough to know it had worked. Or had it? The presence of that car was enough to make them wonder.

A slender, red haired man in a fashionable gray shirt and black skinny jeans steps out, a wine bottle in one hand and a pastry box in the other, and Uriel has no doubt. The demon Crowley is not as dead as the other Archangels had promised.

The thought to report this immediately crosses their mind and they move to snap their fingers and send the memo but they freeze, thumb and middle finger pressed together. There is something off about the demon. His aura is…wrong, somehow.

They lower their hand and continue to watch.

Crowley hesitates once he closes the Bentley door, fidgeting with his clothes for a moment before straightening his shoulders and sauntering up to the bookshop’s door. He knocks once, twice, goes for a third but the door swings open before his fist makes contact. His whole-body tenses when he sees Aziraphale, just for a moment, barely even noticeable unless someone was watching him intently, which of course, Uriel is.

They let their gaze wander to Aziraphale, who is grinning in the doorway. His smile, as large as it is, seems a little forced. His shoulders are tense, his hands unable to hold still. Everything about him screams caution. But under all that, to Uriel’s great surprise, there is an overflowing stream of love. Most of it comes from Aziraphale, which would not be strange if not for who it is directed at.

Uriel focuses back on the demon. They still cannot place what is wrong with him but there is something undoubtedly off. Slowly, they spread out their holy aura, feeling for the normal infernal sting that fills the air when demons are near.

There is nothing but Aziraphale’s own angelic aura. Realization spreads through Uriel like a lightning bolt.

The demon Crowley is no longer a demon. He’s completely human. They stare at him in shock.

The two disappear into the bookshop and Uriel hesitates. They want to follow them in, make themselves invisible to the naked eye, watch the two interact more, find out why Aziraphale could love a creature as filthy as a demon, search for signs of how Crowley survived, and more importantly, why he’s now human. They know better than that, though. Aziraphale is an anxious type. He will no doubt have wards and spells protecting his sanctuary from any who would attempt to disrupt it.

Uriel knows what the Principality is capable of. They are not stupid enough to mess with him.

So instead they return to their flat. Their unfinished report sits on the desk. They go over it, rereading what they have already written before erasing the ink with a twitch of a finger and quickly scribbling a new report, one that fails to mention anything about the demon’s return.

They send the report off and sit heavily in their chair. They are not sure why they are keeping this from Michael but there is something about the way that Aziraphale looked at the demon that… unsettled them.

That’s not quite right, though, is it? There’s another feeling there, one they can’t describe.

They shake it away and move onto more important things, pulling out the stack of orders Michael sent down with them. An Archangel on Earth is not something to be wasted and Michael is ever so efficient.

Uriel sighs and begins flicking through them.

\---

They last five days. Five days of sitting outside Aziraphale’s bookshop before wandering off to perform their assigned miracles. On the sixth day, Crowley returns. He does not arrive in a car this time, instead strolling up to the bookshop with his fingers jammed into his too small pockets.

Uriel watches him. He moves similarly to when he was a demon, perhaps with less slinkiness. His hips actually appear to be attached to the rest of his body and his spine no longer sways like liquid with every movement.

When Crowley reaches the door and Aziraphale greets him, looking sick with nerves, Uriel makes a decision. It is not a smart decision and they already know Michael will have a speech prepared if she ever learns about it. If being the keyword.

They spread their aura out, just enough to feel the edges of Aziraphale’s grace around the shop. They circle the building, poking at the grace barricade every few steps, searching for a weakness they can take advantage of.

They nearly make it full circle before they find one. At the bottom of the wall, a few inches from one of the corners, bricks have begun to crumble. The grace protecting that area wanes slightly, the lack of something to hold it to the mortal realm weakening its power. They poke at it hesitantly, shoving against it after a moment. Their aura slips through, seeping into the bricks behind it.

They wait for an angry Principality to skid around the corner with flaming sword in hand.

Nothing happens.

They grin and retreat from the bookshop, concentrating on their corporeal form, convincing it to melt into something smaller. They have always admired the gila monster, ever since they helped with its creation.

Their bones shrink and their organs shift, compressing into a body much smaller than they are used too. When everything settles into place, they scuttle forwards, wiggling through the weakened grace and entering the bookshop. The bricks are, to put it simply, confused. One minute, they are doing their job and the next, an Archangel in lizard form is seeping through their atoms.

Uriel peeps around the bookshop. Where they came in is just behind a bookshelf. They scurry up it, settling at the top and gazing over the shop from their excellent vantage point. Across the room, slightly hidden from view, are Aziraphale and the dem- the human. They are sitting in plush chairs opposite each other, shimmering wine glasses and dripping pastries in their hands. Crowley’s back is turned to them, his voice only faintly carrying from where he sits, to quiet for them to understand. But whatever he is saying, Aziraphale is enjoying it.

The angel is smiling warmly, his entire being practically glowing with love. Every now and then, he sips from his glass but his smile never fully disappears. Even from this distance, Uriel can see the fondness shining in his eyes, wholly for the creature seated in front of him.

That indescribable feeling returns. It fills their small chest, spreading through their slinky body, warming them from the inside out. For a moment, they think it must be love. What else feels this warm? This wonderful? Then the feeling adjusts, shifts into something less pleasant. Their chest begins to ache, the warmth turning into a blazing fire that rushes through them before dying out, leaving their insides uncomfortably cold. They shiver at the chill that has settled into them but push it to the back of their mind. They only have so long before Aziraphale will notice their presence. They need to gather as much information as possible.

A flick of the tail and a minor miracle later, they are on top of a different bookshelf located much closer to the chattering pair. Here they are able to pick up the conversation, even if they do not understand the whole of what is said.

“-and the bloody thing just kept growing!” Crowley is saying, gesticulating wildly, wine nearly tumbling from his glass with the wide movements. “I trimmed and I shouted but it would not stop getting bigger. Eventually, had to just put the poor thing outside. It’s a full-blown apple tree now, despite its tag saying it was a lemon tree.” He shrugs and chuckles into his wine glass, “Suppose you can’t help people being idiots. Honestly, mistaking an apple tree for a lemon tree. Must have been drunk when they labeled them, if you ask me.”

Aziraphale snickers and raises his glass to his lips, muttering into the lip of it, “But you did buy it thinking it was a lemon tree, my dear.”

Uriel still can’t see Crowley’s face but they can hear the embarrassment well enough when Crowley sputters out a reply. He gulps from his glass and Aziraphale’s smile grows impossibly fonder.

Suddenly, his demeanor changes. He sets his glass down and folds his hands in his lap, his thumbs fiddling with the bottom buttons of his waistcoat. His eyebrows draw together slightly and his lips thin out in an anxious grimace. He gives a nervous wiggle before he speaks. “Say, Crowley, dear.” He pauses, looking at the other being before apparently finding that more difficult and looking away. His eyes dance across the books in the lower shelves as he continues, “I was wondering if you’d – well, if it would be alright – What I mean to say is,” he pauses again, licks his lips, takes a short but deep breath, and finishes in a hurried, “Would you like to go on a date?”

Silence fills the bookshop. Crowley sits frozen, wine glass raised halfway to his lips. Aziraphale’s fidgeting grows worse the longer the silence continues. Uriel is mainly confused. They are not sure what a ‘date’ is supposed to be but they have no doubt they will find out eventually. They sit patiently and wait.

Crowley does not move. Azirphale begins to babble, his voice slightly frantic, a little bit despairing. “We could go eat somewhere. The Ritz is always nice this time of year or we could do something more casual. There’s a lovely little sushi place just a few blocks away, or we could avoid food and go for a lovely walk.” He swallows hard, the buttons of his waistcoat practically undone under his thumbs’ nervous ministrations. “We could also just bag the whole thing, forget I ever asked. Yes, I think that might be the best course of action. Sorry to unsettle you, dear. Please continue telling me about that troublesome tree.”

This is enough to startle Crowley from his shock. He leans forward, his wine glass joining Aziraphale’s on the table between them. “You’re asking me on a date? Like a real, romantic date?”

Aziraphale nods, hesitance making the movement jerky.

Crowley snatches his glass back up, a little bit of wine sloshing onto the table’s surface. He gulps down the liquid, keeping the glass upturned a few seconds after the last few drops pass his lips. When he can no longer pretend there is more liquid to be drank, he lowers the glass.

Uriel watches Aziraphale’s face through the whole thing; the shift from nervous to panicked to heartbroken nearly makes Uriel jump from their hiding spot and slap some sense into Crowley’s head. They push that feeling down, making a note to analyze it later. Angels aren’t usually protective of each other. They may need to talk to Michael about this.

“If you don’t want to-” Aziraphale starts, his face settling into determined nonchalance.

Crowley interrupts him. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I want too. It’s just unexpected. Caught me off guard.” He stops, leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, the empty wine glass dangling from his elegant fingers. “The Ritz sounds nice, actually. Don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

There’s a flash of pain in Aziraphale’s eyes but it is gone before Uriel can properly notice it. They shake it off as a trick of the eye. A smile blooms across Aziraphale’s face and he settles back into his chair, all signs of nervousness vanished with Crowley’s words.

A holy tickle flutters in Uriel’s mind. It’s time for them to take their leave. They flick their tail and scurry back across the bookshop, returning to the spot they entered from. They glance back at Aziraphale and Crowley, taking in the glow and the love that surrounds the two before squeezing back between the bricks and through the wall of grace.

They continue down the street, morphing back into their human form as they go. They consider, very briefly, informing Michael of the goings on but quickly toss that thought aside. Michael will insist on doing it step by step, following the rules exactly and precisely. But that did not work before and Uriel knows it will not work now.

If Heaven wants to know what Aziraphale is planning, they will have to think like him, which will involve some rule breaking.

Uriel grins at the thought. This mission is turning out to be far more fun than they could have dreamed.


End file.
